“I’m fine, aren’t I?” I shot back. “Plus, I got Jesse’s taped confession.”
Ben’s hands went up in a frustrated gesture. “That’s not the point, Lucy.”
“Children…,” Betty-Anne admonished, her eyes twinkling.
“You two should go on a date already, Lancaster,” Gus said. I didn’t dare watch Ben’s expression, but mine was making Gus and Betty-Anne chuckle in delight.
“The letter—what does it say?” I asked finally, even though I already mostly knew.
Betty-Anne opened her handbag and pulled out a piece of paper. She handed it to me, but I asked if she would read it aloud. It seemed only fitting to let Jeb’s great-granddaughter speak his words.
In a clear voice, Betty-Anne Inscore-Cooper read:
October 10, 1849
Dear Mrs. Halloran,
I have entrusted this to my lawyer, Mr. Edmund Throckmorton, with the edict that it be delivered to you upon my death.
This gift I give to you may look macabre, but I hope it will eventually give you the peace you have sought.
Betty-Anne continued to read, giving voice to Jeb’s account of the day of Seth’s murder and his anguish over the events and his role in them. Ben and I sat in rapt silence and Gus stroked his bristly gray mustache. Then she read the words that made all four of us lean forward in our seats.
My sorrow over my failings and your family’s distress has been unending. With the name of the man who decreed his men murder your husband, I hope that my spirit will finally be at rest.
Senator Caleb Applewhite was the man who truly committed this ugly deed by his ordering of it. He is the man who told me I must tell an untruth about the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death as well. Thusly, I shall tell you, in as exact terms as I can recall, the reasons he gave me.
Betty-Anne continued to fill in the story that I’d pieced together through my research, with Ben’s help, and with Jesse Ronten’s confession, along with some parts that surprised me.
Before entering into a textiles business with Albert Tanner and Cantwell Ayers, Caleb Applewhite had originally attempted to create a business of his own and had gone behind Seth Halloran’s back to create ties with Seth’s ranchers. Seth, not happy with Caleb for doing this, shut the senator down.
I couldn’t help myself when I heard this. I tugged on Ben’s shirt, jerked my thumb at my chest, and mouthed, “I called it!”
He shook his head, but I saw the smile play on his lips all the same.
Betty-Anne kept reading and we found out things changed when Albert Tanner came into Caleb’s life by marrying his daughter Jane. The marriage had been a secret to most, with Albert winning Jane over quickly and the two of them marrying without Caleb’s consent. However, as the Yankee had textiles experience, Caleb saw his ticket to becoming successful in Seth’s world and created a business, bringing his friend Cantwell Ayers into the fold with him and his new son-in-law. Jeb wrote:
C.A.—for I cease from here forth to give him the honor of even writing his full name or calling him by his title of senator—told me that Tanner took it upon himself to attempt to buy neighboring lands belonging to the sheep farmers that were loyal to your husband. The money offered to the farmers was much lower than their lands were worth, but Tanner, feeling as if he had the force of C.A. and Representative Ayers behind him, used intimidation to impel the farmers to sell.
When your husband discovered this, he confronted Tanner and an altercation ensued. Mr. Halloran then planned to send a written account to the newspaper that detailed the underhanded nature of C.A.’s, Tanner’s, and Ayers’s dealings. C.A. could not have this, so he had his men take your husband’s life in such a cowardly way.
Betty-Anne then read to us how Caleb blamed Albert Tanner’s foolishness for making it necessary to murder Seth Halloran, and so he ordered Albert Tanner to leave Texas, even though Albert’s wife, Jane Applewhite Tanner, was pregnant.
Lowering the copy of Jeb’s letter, Betty-Anne said, “Jane’s pregnancy was another secret Jeb had to keep, but this one might have been for the best. Caleb didn’t want Albert returning to San Antonio if he found out, so he planned to send Jane away to live with her brother and his pregnant wife.”
I nodded along with Gus and Ben, but didn’t add that Jane’s child would become Senator Daniel Applewhite’s great-grandfather. The senator’s direct lineage was still a secret and it was his information to give out or to continue to keep secret, not mine.
“Wow,” I said.
“But that’s not all,” Betty-Anne said. “He added a postscript dated sixteen years later, in August of 1865. I can’t imagine why he’d want to tell Jennie Halloran this news, but I can only assume my great-grandfather felt it was the only way he could get things off his chest.”
“Makes sense to me,” Gus said, and I agreed.
“What did the postscript say?” Ben asked.
Betty-Anne summarized it for us, explaining that Mary-Eliza Ayers, now twenty-five years old, had come to Jeb’s photography studio to make an appointment to have her portrait taken for her fiancé. Jeb was astounded to find the fiancé was none other than Albert Tanner. As Jeb had known her and her family since she was born, she apparently trusted Jeb enough to open up to him.
“Jeb recounts how unhappy Mary-Eliza was to be moving to North Carolina instead of having Albert moving back to Texas,” Betty-Anne said. “However, Mary-Eliza told Jeb she had little choice in the matter. Caleb Applewhite had pressured her into selling the land she’d inherited from her father, Cantwell Ayers. She told Jeb she felt she and Albert would be unwelcome as a couple in San Antonio.”
Ben and I stole a glance at each other. Unwelcome would have been an understatement.
Gus spoke back up. “At the end of the letter, Jeb wrote he believed Caleb purchased those lands as a sign of remorse for having forced his daughter Jane to bear her child in secrecy, without her husband.”
“Wow,” I said. “That little postscript is what Jesse wanted this whole time. He saw it as undeniable proof that the Ayers lands were gained through coercion, and that the information would get him his family’s lands back.”
We were all silent for a moment, thinking about how these few short sentences from the past had caused so much turmoil.
I said, “Though I wonder, how did this letter never get into Jennie Halloran’s hands when it was supposed to be entrusted to Jeb’s lawyer to deliver it?”
“I can answer that,” Betty-Anne said. “Edmund Throckmorton was my great-grandfather’s younger cousin. Edmund died two days after Jeb did. He had a heart attack.”
“He never even had time to carry out Jeb’s wish that the daguerreotype be passed on to Jennie Halloran,” Ben said. “Instead, Jeb’s daughter found them and made sure they stayed hidden among his belongings.”
“Until you came along, shug.” Betty-Anne said with a smile.
I felt my cheeks burn again. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think all I did was knock over a hornet’s nest. Then apparently I ran right into the swarm instead of away from it.” I didn’t dare look at Ben.
Betty-Anne took my hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. “Lucy, not only did you save the life of Senator Applewhite, you also fulfilled a last wish of my great-grandfather. Jeb is resting in peace now because of you. He finally got to tell the world the truth about how Seth Halloran really died. No one else in my family has been able to do that for him, but you did, and we thank you for that.”
“You also solved my great-great-granddaddy’s murder, Lancaster. The Hallorans will forever be in your debt.”
I got all misty-eyed, which got worse when Ben said, “I’d like to believe that Jennie Halloran, her children, and most of all, Seth himself, are resting in peace now as well with the truth exposed.”
Gus, a little damp-eyed as well, nodded vehemently.
I searched Ben’s face for signs of sarcasm and he met my gaze straight on. I could see the hint of green around his pupils, ming
ling with all the blue.
“Thanks,” I said. He nodded once, and then told us how Agent Ronten got involved in his cousin Jesse’s misguided quest for vengeance.
“Mark Ronten confessed he owed Jesse a debt, which was used as blackmail,” Ben said. “Mark had wanted to get into the FBI since he was a kid, but he had a criminal record from when he was eighteen. Jesse was able to hack the official records and erase it.”
I told the story of Jesse’s meth-head cousin causing a fire that destroyed Mary-Eliza’s diaries.
“Which meant all means of proving to Senator Applewhite that Mary-Eliza had not willingly sold her lands to Caleb back in 1865 had been lost as well,” Ben said.
“Mark Ronten was the cousin addicted to meth,” I explained. “That’s how he got his criminal record.”
Ben nodded, adding, “He’s claiming he was trying to get Jesse to turn himself in, but Jesse refused.” He then shifted to look me. Though his voice stayed businesslike, his jaw was tight. “Lucy, you should know Jesse threatened to kill you if Mark didn’t keep helping him. Mark’s text messages with Jesse confirm this.”
I gulped, feeling a little lightheaded again at the thought. Betty-Anne reached over the table and took my hand while Gus growled, “The nerve!” with his mustache bristling out in anger. Ben’s worried eyes telegraphed a question and I nodded, saying. “I’m okay. I promise.”
“Mark said he was trying to get the senator out of the way when Flaco tackled him,” Ben continued. “Agent Koblizek admits Mark instructed him to shield the senator. We also know Mark had requested a meeting with his superiors. It’s possible he was planning on confessing his role in helping Jesse.”
Despite it all, I had a confession too: I’d liked Agent Ronten and hoped what Ben said would turn out to be true.
I asked, “Have the FBI or the police found where Jesse was living? Have they found the stolen journals yet?”
“Mark told us all we needed to know. Jesse’s been living in an apartment near campus.” He smiled at Betty-Anne. “We’ve recovered the journals, as well as the other things he stole from your house.”
Betty-Anne clapped her hands together in joy.
I looked at Ben. “Do you think I could have my iPad for a moment? I just want to show you one other thing, and then y’all can do all your evidence stuff with it.”
A few minutes later, Ben came back with my iPad. I opened up a browser page and typed in a few words.
“I’m also pretty sure I know what the tattoo is on Jesse’s back.” An image came up and I turned it around so all three could see it. “I haven’t seen the whole of his tattoo, of course, but I think it’s the Ayers family crest. The thing I said looks like the tip of a bird’s wing is actually the plume atop a knight’s helmet, isn’t it?”
“You’re right,” Ben said, smiling. “How did you figure out that one?”
I told them how Jesse was obsessed with being an Ayers. “Not a Ronten, which is his father’s name, and definitely not a Gerber or even Tanner, which were the two names his fifth great-grandfather went by. Being an Ayers seemed to be what was most important to him, so I took a guess. There’s more than one version, but they all had the knight’s helmet with a plume. When I covered everything but the very top of the plume, it looked exactly what I’d seen peeking out of the back of his shirt.”
“Lancaster, I’m impressed,” Gus said, slapping the table again. “I knew you had moxie the moment I met you.”
Betty-Anne nodded with enthusiasm as she gave my fingers a warm squeeze.
Moxie, I thought to myself. It was an old-fashioned word. Something my great-great-grandparents would have used. I liked the sound of it.
Ben said it was time to get my official statement. Taking it as their cue to leave, Gus announced that he was squiring Betty-Anne away for a dinner with his wife, Phyllis, at the Driskill Hotel. They hoped I would join them as soon as I was through.
As Gus helped her on with her coat, Betty-Anne kissed me on the cheek and said, “Though maybe there’s someone else who’d like to take you to dinner, and we understand if that’s the case.” She gave Ben an exaggerated wink as she exited the interrogation room.
Following her out, Gus stopped long enough to clap Ben on the shoulder with a hearty chuckle. “Son, if you need me to decode that for you, maybe you shouldn’t be in the FBI.”
If I could have hidden under the table and disappeared, I would have. Ben looked mildly amused, but when he closed the door, his expression closed with it. Back into good ol’ Fed state, naturally.
Was it wrong that I found that look oddly comforting now?
Anyway, he wasted no time in recording my statement, taking notes for himself every so often as well. When the interview was over, I was sliding my arms into my coat before Ben had even finished announcing the ending time for the record. I was tired, hungry again, and needed at least two stiff drinks, wherever and with whomever I could get them.
He pulled out my cell phone from his back pocket, handing it to me. “They need more time with your iPad, but you’re free to take your phone.”
“How did you even get it?” I asked. “Jesse had put it in my desk drawer.”
Ben smiled. “We all started calling you when your email came in. Serena heard it buzzing in your desk and she and Josephine brought it to us.”
I reached for it, but he didn’t quite let it go. One eyebrow was arched. “‘BAT in the Bureau,’ though? Really?”
“Hey, you have to agree it’s clever, right?”
Ben rolled his eyes heavenward, but he was fighting back a smile. Good. Let’s end this night on a high note.
“You got a text a little while ago,” he said. “I think you’ll want to see it.”
I checked my phone and heaved a happy sigh. Jackson had sent me a short video of NPH. The big tabby was enjoying a good brushing, and his purr could be heard clearly even as Jackson said in the background, “NPH wanted you to know he’s right as rain, so don’t you worry, okay?”
I typed back a short message (“NPH now stands for Neil Patrick HEROcat!”), added a bunch of heart emojis, and slipped my phone in my tote. I headed to the door, but Ben was already there, opening it for me.
“Actually … I could use a drink, and maybe some dinner. Would you, ah, like to join me?” Catching my double-take, he said, “Dayna and I, we aren’t seeing each other anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I’d forgotten all about his girlfriend and I inwardly chastised myself before allowing the butterflies in my stomach to bust out into an Olympic-level gymnastics routine. Leaning back against the doorjamb, inches away from him, I looked up into his eyes. They were really pretty once you took notice of them, the deep blue striating nicely before giving way to that bit of green. I thought about other things, too, including the fact that I still didn’t have a guest to take to the football game this weekend. No need to jump that gun just yet, of course, but something to consider, right?
I said, “I’d like that … on two conditions.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and said in a long-suffering voice, “And what conditions would those be, Ms. Lancaster?”
“One, that we go see the bats leave Congress Avenue Bridge. They’ll go back to Mexico for the winter any night now and I promised myself if I made it out of this unscathed, I’d watch them while drinking champagne.”
Ben checked his watch. There was still time to get a bottle of bubbly and make it to the bridge before sunset.
“Good idea. Done,” he said. “Two?”
“That you give me your mom’s full name, with her maiden name and date of birth, so I can research her DAR link.”
“No way.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “If I find your mom’s ancestor who fought in the Revolutionary War, I could fill out the DAR paperwork for her. All she’d have to do is send it in, wait for her official acceptance notice, and she’d be good to go.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you crazy? L
etting you loose with some of my family’s personal information? No.”
Yeah, he was crazy if he thought I’d give up that quickly.
“Why? What do you think’s going to happen?” I asked, my eyes wide with innocence. “That I’ll fake a reason to meet your mom in person, con her into handing over embarrassing photos of you in your pre-teen awkward stage, and plaster them all over the internet? I’d never do that.”
“I didn’t have an awkward stage,” he replied.
I laughed. “Sure you didn’t.”
“The answer’s still no.” I got the crossed arms again.
Please. As if that would deter me.
“Ben, think about it,” I said with my sweetest possible smile. “Christmas is just over six weeks away. How great of a present would that be for your mom, to give her the genealogical proof she needs to become a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution? You yourself said she’s been searching for that connection for years. If she had a relative who fought for our country’s independence, I bet I can track him down.”
All the teasing faded from my voice. “Plus, I’d also like to do it as a sincere thank you, for everything you’ve done for me and for protecting me. So, what do you say?”
He didn’t reply. We had another epic stare down. It lasted a good five seconds, with his jaw set and a muscle flickering in his cheek.
Then with a final sigh and a shake of his head, he flipped open his notepad and started writing.
Oh, yeah. High-five to me!
AUTHOR’S NOTE
“Ay, chiflada (chiflado).”
Pronounced “CHEE-flah-thah” (feminine)
or “CHEE-flah-thoh” (masculine)
Translates loosely to, “Oh, you’re crazy.”
My paternal grandmother, Amali Runyon Perkins (aka Nana), said this phrase all the time to her children and grandchildren—and more times than I could count to me—and it was exclusively said with love and laughter because we amused her so much.
In my mind, the character of Flaco Medrano uses it the same way when he’s talking to his favorite customer, Lucy.
Murder Once Removed Page 28
